


ode to the half-empty glass of water in our kitchen sink at 3 am

by minatoarisatoast



Series: If I Submit, You Win [2]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Character Study, Communication, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Gender-Neutral Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Death Wish, Lack of Communication, Late Night Conversations, Lesson 16 (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) Spoilers, MC says sweet things while drunk, Mentions of alcohol, Multi, Original Character(s), Other, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Trauma, not in the fun way tho, someone gets strangled
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minatoarisatoast/pseuds/minatoarisatoast
Summary: You settle around him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You're both sweaty and shaking badly and you can feel yourself getting lightheaded. Oh, you're going to die. You're going to die spooning the guy that killed you.You don't think you'relovers, exactly. No, your relationship with Belphegor can't be summed up in just one word.Your relationship with him is more akin to waking up from a nightmare and feeling your way to the kitchen for some water. It's running into someone in the kitchen already pouring himself a cup because he had a nightmare just like you.It's falling asleep in each other's arms. It's nostalgia for the everyday. It's relearning what it means to feelsafe(and rewriting the definitions that don't suit you).
Relationships: Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s)
Series: If I Submit, You Win [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026045
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79





	1. self-preservation

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note:  
> While I avoid using their name in the fic itself for immersion purposes, MC here is a fleshed-out character of mine and their backstory will be touched upon in a future chapter. Just a head's up in case that's not your thing. ^_^
> 
> With that said, happy reading!

It's 2 AM and you're in the attic (like before) and you can't breathe (again.) _Thump-thump_. Your heart's pumping blood in the wrong directions, you're pretty sure, but when you put your hand to your chest, nothing's beating.

The walls dance with 7 different silhouettes. Sometimes 8, when you spot probably-yours. Sometimes 9, but she's dead and you're not sure that's a socially appropriate thing to be. _Thump-thump._

Nothing is beating. Nothing is bleeding. There is nobody there to kill you.

You black out anyway, because that's life. _Thump-thump._

* * *

_Thump-thump...thump…?_

You bolt upright, heart pounding in the dark. Still alive. Your breaths are quick and shallow, but they exist and you still remember how to fill and empty your lungs. A comforting thought. Reassuring. Delicious. You roll it over in your head and chew on it.

A lone _thump,_ followed by shuffling. Goosebumps run up and down your arms. Maybe you have a monster under your bed? Say it ain't so.

The shuffling grows distant. Not under your bed, then.

…

No, not shuffling. It's not shuffling, it's the sound of someone dragging their feet away from your door. The _thump-thump_ was someone knocking at your door, muffled and uncertain.

Whoever stopped by your door in the middle of the night is leaving now. You push yourself up and out of bed, then out the door (pajamas and all.)

It's dim in the hall, even with your D.D.D. as a flashlight. The silhouette shuffles to a stop when they hear you. They clutch something close to their chest.

... _Oh._

It's Belphie. His posture's stiff, shoulders up like a frightened animal. He's clinging to his pillow like it's a teddy bear or some other comfort object.

"Belphie?"

He flinches at your voice, blinking away from your flashlight app like a pretty ghost in an underfunded film. Something glistens on his cheeks, framing dark circles and red-rimmed eyes. "...What do you want?"

"I'm pretty sure that's my line, but a'ight. What's up? If you're gonna wake me at ass o'clock in the morning, I think I deserve an explanation."

"..." Belphie doesn't move, squeezing his pillow tighter.

A pause. A long pause, actually, as your eyes follow the lines, curves, and angles of his face. Your words lose their edge. "...Seriously, what's going on?"

Belphie's expression hardens as your tone goes soft; his jaw's set, lips pressed together in a thin, brittle line. "Fine. Can we go to your room?"

"..."

He doesn't wait for an answer, already shuffling away.

...You shuffle after him, wondering what self-preservation feels like. Wondering when it went away.

(It's okay. You'd already lost your mind, you're certain; forgot it on a bus somewhere in the human world, or maybe dropped it in the gutter while looking for something else of questionable value.)

"Will you compensate me for my sleep time?" you deadpan.

"No."

The way he says it draws a soft, suppressed laugh out of you.

* * *

You follow him inside, shutting the door behind you. Its hinges creak with disapproval.

Belphie flops onto your bed like it's his, and you nudge him to make space. "Did Beel eat your bed frame?"

...You get no reply, and wonder if he's fallen asleep before you glance over. He's curled up, shoulders quivering like a leaf in a cold rain. Not asleep, no. You've seen it once or twice before, back when he was still in the attic. Back when your nightmares weren't as bad, but your insomnia was, so you'd seek out the one guy with sleep problems as bad as yours.

Sometimes you'd find him in a panic attack.

You shift to a more comfortable position. The mattress creaks. You can hear Belphie's breathing, quick and irregular with silent sobs in between.

You're never sure what to do, but like always, you stay.

"Dying," he chokes out. "I, I—"

"You're not dying," you reply in a tone you hope is firm but comforting, words slow and steady to contrast his own. "I'm here. You're safe."

_You're safe._

You can feel your own hands getting tingly, breath catching in your throat. Really? _Now?_ You curse the timing.

"Do you n— Do you need me to hold you?" you say, because you need it too. You need that touch, and you hope you're not the only one, and it helps that he's nodding oh thank god he's nodding.

You settle around him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You're both sweaty and shaking badly and you can feel yourself getting lightheaded. Oh, you're going to die. You're going to die spooning the guy that killed you.

Your heart thumps against your ribs. You bury your face in Belphie's shoulders. His hair tickles your cheek. Clammy fingers lace with your own.

(C'est la vie, no? It is what it is.)

...

_What a way to go._

* * *

Belphie's still there when you wake up, the two of you a tangle of limbs. Somewhere in the land of Nod, he'd rolled over to face you.

You watch his chest rise and fall through half-closed eyes. Slow. Steady.

Inhale,

exhale.

Inhale,

exhale.

(He has pretty eyelashes, long and delicate. You think about running your hands through his hair. Beautiful. Groggy as you are, you smile into your pillow. You hope his sleep is dreamless.)

…Your eyes slide shut. It's the weekend, you can indulge. Rest a little longer. He'd woken you up at ass o'clock. You deserve it.

(You hope Belphie's sleep is painless. You pray yours is, too.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's the first chapter up. \o/ We did it folks.
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment if you like what you see. It's been a while since I've uploaded a fic in parts/as I write it and comments are hella motivating. I tend to be slow with responding (we out here clowning w/ ADHD!) but do let me know what you think!


	2. little white lies (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ("little white lies") is split into two parts. (I) focuses on Belphie, while (II) will touch upon my MC's past.
> 
> Happy reading! :-)

"Dancing with the devil." What an aesthetic line; a perfect example of humans taking idiocy and making it sound pretty.

_Dancing with the devil. Flirting with death._ So many beautiful ways to say _reckless_ , because that's what the human exchange student is.

...And yet, to Belphegor, their recklessness is an _opportunity_. Their hubris is his way out of the attic. That's what it boils down to when you strip away all the pretty words: opportunity.

The human lingers by the attic door. Belphie's perceptive, but the human's expression is hard to read. He's not sure what to make of it. 

_(Then again, who am I to talk?)_

_..._

Belphie shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He looks for hints in turbulent eyes and tells them he's a human.

Six pacts. The exchange student tilts their head to the side. It doesn't look like they buy it.

Six pacts. His mouth smiles. His eyes don't.

Six. He tells the truth while lying through his teeth.

He'll be free soon.

He'll be free soon.

He'll be free soon.

He'll be free soon.

He'll be free soon.

He'll be free soon.

He'll be—

…

Belphie thinks of Lucifer.

(There's a knot in his chest; pent up emotions that threaten to spill over. He'll kill that first. He'll kill it over and over until he can't feel a thing.)

He thinks of the Lucifer he'd looked up to; the Lucifer who'd play lullabies on the piano back when things were better. Lucifer, who'd insist that _no, there's no monster under your bed, Belphie,_ before checking anyway.

(He thinks of Lilith. He thinks of his hands around Lucifer's neck.)

The human murmurs something he doesn't hear. Six. He just needs six.

...

He'll be free soon, he lies to himself. It's his lucky day, he lies. He hates Lucifer. He hates the human. He'll say it over and over until it's the truth.

_Please, give me an answer. Please, tell me I'm not lost. Somebody, please, **help** —_

* * *

Lazy, guilty fingers pull away when Belphie's eyes flutter open.

_Right_. This was his room. He'd invited you over to nap again; it's routine by now. This made it what, the fifth time? The fifth time you'd napped together since the night you held him; the night you said he was safe.

He's glad. He feels safe. Ideally sane (but he's not sure that word still holds to the definition he was raised with, so he puts the thought out of his head).

…

( _A cuddle buddy_. The thought makes him feel all warm and fuzzy.)

"If you wanted to run your hands through my hair, you could've just asked," he mumbles into the pillow, a secret smile on his lips.

"You looked so comfy, though. And your hair's so soft."

"Mm?" A pause as Belphie drapes himself across your lap. He rests his head on your thigh, because he can. "It felt nice. Keep going."

"Mm. You sure?"

"I didn't say you had to _stop_." His eyes fall shut.

He hears you chuckle. "What's the magic word?"

"Seriously?"

" _Bzzt_. That's not the magic word! No pats for you."

He groans, feeling his face get warm. "Pleeease?"

"Dork." The petting resumes. Silent fingers comb through Belphie's locks.

(It's bliss. He wants to stay like this forever.)

* * *

"Did you sleep well?" he hears you ask; long after Belphie's lost track of time.

(You ask the same question after each nap and he always gives the same answer.)

"Mm. Yeah, I slept fine."

(This makes five. He's told the same lie five times.)

"..."

He feels your gaze on the back of his neck; an almost **tangible** pressure. If anyone could slit his throat with a look, it would be you (and he'd let you. He'd bare his neck for your teeth and yours alone because he knows you'd never bite— even if sometimes he wishes you would. It's what he deserves, right?

Right?

Right?

Right?

Right?

Right?)

.

.

.

It's something he will never say out loud because he knows you'd be horrified. It's something only he and Beel know because Beel keeps all his secrets (sometimes before Belphie even realizes he has one, because that's just how Beel is) and he wonders if his twin knows where his train of thought went because his head is a hurricane and the rails are gone.

_Did you sleep well?_

.

.

.

"Are you ever gonna stop asking that question?" he mumbles into the quilt. The words fall unhindered from half-conscious lips.

A kiss is pressed to his forehead with all the love in the world. "Not till you stop lying."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed Chapter 2! As always, I encourage y'all to leave comments. I love comments. They are my coffee, my muse. (*takes a sip*)
> 
> Sidenote: I wonder if I posted Chapter 1 under that time window that messes with listings? It was either right before or after 7pm EST/EDT so Yahweh knows if I did or didn't. Daylight savings, man.


	3. little white lies (II)

_Dear diary,_

_Some girls made fun of me today, so I called them bad words that my big brother taught me. I got in trouble when they told my teacher and the ~~principle~~ (?) principal ended up calling my brother in. He smiled and nodded a lot, so I was worried… But guess what! After we left, he went and bought me ice cream. He says that if I get good grades, he'll teach me more bad words. Hes so cool!!!!_

_Thank you for listening, diary!_

_Love,_

□□□□

_PS: The ice cream was good. I got mint chip, because it was on sale. Big bro also got mint chip. He's a copycat._

* * *

_Dear diary,_

_No one's made fun of me since I entered junior high. My brother warned me that kids start getting way dumb around that age, but he graduated forever ago so stuff's probably changed since he was here. Some of the staff still remember him. I guess he was popular?_

_None of my classmates were in the same elementary school as me, so they already know each other. I don't have particularly strong feelings toward any of them, so I'm okay with that, even if I do feel kinda lonely sometimes._

_I'm respectful to my seniors, polite to the people in my year, and I get good grades. I'm not really enjoying any of it, but I want to do well so I'll manage._

_Love,_

□□□□

_PS: Bro hasn't really been talking to me lately. He seems upset about something._

* * *

_Dear diary,_

_Today I asked my brother if we could get ice cream, like old times. He said no, we can't afford it._

_Maybe I should get a part-time job? I'm in high school now so chances are I could. I'll look into it._

_Love,_

□□□□

* * *

_Dear diary,_

_I asked my bro if I should work part-time. He said I should focus on my studies. He said it in such a rude-ass tone though? I can't help but feel kinda pissed._

_Love,_

□□□□

_PS: Just remembered I have a test coming up so after thinking on it more I kinda get where he's coming from._

_PPS: We used to talk a bunch, but now it feels like he doesn't trust me. He won't answer any of my questions, and it's freaking me out._

* * *

_Dear diary,_

_I passed my test._

_Other than that, nothing of note really happened today._

_I'm so bored. Maybe I'll go play games or take a walk or some shit._

_Yeah, I'll go do that. Then I'll find something else to kill time till my brother gets home, tells me to study, and then locks himself in his room like he isn't still my legal guardian and thus responsible for my happiness and well-being. Whatever happened to family bonding?_

_Y'know, times like this I wish I'd made actual friends._

_Love,_

□□□□

* * *

_Dear diary,_

_It just hit that I'll be graduating soon._

_Other than that, nothing of note happened today, so I don't have anything to write._

_Love,_

□□□□

* * *

_Dear diary,_

_Nothing of note happened today either._

_I keep flipping through and rereading my entries over the past year even though I probably shouldn't since it makes me feel like shit._

_Writing things down feels exhausting these days. Maybe I should stop keeping a diary._

_Still, I feel too sentimental to throw you away, so I'll write a few more times. If it still hurts then I'll tuck you away with my older diaries. I'm almost out of pages as it is._

_Love,_

□□□□

* * *

_Dear diary,_

_My brother was arrested today. Something to do with money._

_Don't remember exactly what he did. ~~It was~~ it's all a blur. He was helping some guys out with some scam. ~~some~~ Some illegal shit to make some cash. So he could pay my university tuition. Which he did._

_Did he really think this would make me happy? Is he a goddamn idiot? ~~I hate~~ ~~I'm really ha~~ I'm really upset at him. I feel like I can't say I hate him but I'm really mad at him right now. Several curse words I feel like using on that, stupid, idiotic, sorry excuse for a brother. He knew damn well if I knew this was going on then I wouldn't have wanted to go to uni in the first place._

_I only said I was thinking about it, someday. I never wanted this to happen_

_I hate him. I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him so much. Fuck it. I hate him. Just stabbed a hole through the paper. I don't want to keep a diary anymore. I don't think I can keep up with daily entries._

_I should go sleep. I'll put you in the box with my other diaries, so at least you won't be lonely. Sorry that you're the only one I didn't finish._

_Love,_

□□□□

* * *

_Dear diary,_

_...It's been years since I've written those two words. So many things have changed, I'm not even sure where to start. I'll just sum up the past few months as best I can._

_First: I dropped out of college. It was going nowhere. I was just wasting time + digging myself into a hole out of a misplaced sense of obligation. There! I said it. A big, spicy middle finger @ you-know-who. Yes, I'm still bitter._

_After that? Well, one thing led to another and now I'm sharing a dorm with 6 guys. Demons, mind you. Literal ones!! How cool is that!? I'm typing this up on my D.D.D., by the way. It's like a school-issued(?) phone._

  * _Lucifer seems reliable, if a bit overbearing._
  * _I don't know how to feel about Mammon yet. They say he's bad with money and a compulsive thief. Obvs I have bad associations with money and crime. Will see how it goes._
  * _I like Levi. A bit intense but he's cute so I'll forgive him lol._
  * _Satan (I know, right?) seems really normal, which makes me lowkey sus because literally no one here has all their cards in a deck if u get what I mean._
  * _I feel like I should keep my guard up around that Asmo guy._
  * _Beel will eat me 90% sure. Note to self: Keep sweets on u at all times for emergencies. I bet he's easily bribed._



_I'm pretty sure there's supposed to be one more. Diavolo said seven, right? Not six? Will keep an eye out._

_Peace,_

□□□□

_PS: I've locked my diary with a passcode. Keep your grubby hands to yourselves, demon boys._

* * *

_Dear diary,_

_Something happened last night, and I'm not sure what to make of it. See, I was in my room when I heard it—a voice calling out. It came from the attic, but Lucifer wouldn't let me go up._

_Something's up with him, I know it. Why stand guard if there's nothing worth guarding? Luke said to "never trust a demon", and frankly I'm inclined to believe him._

_Something's going on here. I don't know what, but I get the feeling I'm about to break several unwritten rules. Maybe that's not a bad thing. It's been a long time since I've engaged in some good ol' fashioned rule breaking._

_Still, they're demons. I could die if I step out of line, so why don't I feel scared? I should be, but I'm not. Why?_

_Where did my sense of self-preservation go? Did I forget it on the bus? Leave it in class? Mayhaps it fell down the gutter when I left to pick up groceries._

_I don't know. I don't care. All I know is that I need to get up those stairs or it'll keep me up at night, I know it. Wish me luck, dearest diary. I'm way too young to die trying to climb a staircase._

_Oh, fuck it. I'm scared. I don't know of what. Maybe I'm less scared of dying as much as I'm scared of not knowing things._

_Yeah. Knowledge is safety. I know I won't feel safe until I climb those stairs and see for myself._

_Yours,_

□□□□

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > **Beel:** □□□□, do you have any brothers?
>> 
>> → I forgot.
>> 
>> **Beel:** I see.
>> 
>> **Beel:** Huh, I guess there are some people that just don't have brothers.
> 
> _Source: "A Question from Beel" (Memory Box)_


	4. other people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes:  
> \- This chapter took a bit longer than the others, mostly because of how emotionally challenging it was to write. I think it might also be longer 😳 skdjdjdnfjf...
> 
> \- MC will be fine. It really is just a cold and they'll be better by the next chapter.
> 
> \- I outlined the next few chapters and decided on six in total. 💪 Will let y'all know if the number changes.
> 
> With that said, enjoy!

Your head hurts. Your throat hurts. You feel like you got socked between the eyes and run through the House of Lamentation's dishwasher for an hour and a half.

You're sick, goddamn it. Sick, but otherwise intact. The only thing on the verge of collapse right now is your ego, which has shriveled up into an ego raisin about the size of a Grimm.

(Satan and Belphie were gonna steal Lucifer's shoes and bury them in the garden today, bless them. You wonder if they'll be okay without you on distraction duty.)

You could cry, but you won't. You have too much pride for that. Instead, you roll over in bed and sulk with your back to the door.

* * *

Someone knocks at your door after about an hour of fitful dozing and bite-sized dreams.

You hear your name. "□□□□? I'm coming in."

( _Urgh_. You pretend to be asleep.)

Your door creaks open, then clicks shut. Footsteps, followed by nothing. You feel eyes on you.

(You pretend harder. Maybe if you pretend hard enough, they'll leave.)

Your bed frame creaks. Warm arms enfold you as whoever it is scoots up against you and buries his face in your neck from behind. Unkempt hair tickles your cheek, and suddenly you know who it is.

(You almost say his name; almost reach to entwine your fingers with his. You don't, though. You hesitate. _Why?_ )

Belphie clings to you. He whispers your name like a strained, feeble prayer.

(Still, you falter. Lost? No, that's not it. Afraid? Afraid. Of what? _What do you fear_? _ **Why don't you move**_?

You're afraid; afraid of being alone. Afraid of _~~not~~_ being ~~alone.~~

 ~~It has you~~ paralyzed.

~~Move,~~

~~move,~~

~~move,~~

~~move,~~

~~move,~~

~~move,~~

move.)

.

.

.

"Don't die," Belphie breathes with a break in his voice. "Please don't die."

 _Don't die don't die don'tdiedon'tdie._ You hear muffled sobbing, and suddenly you don't have the heart to pretend anymore.

You lace your fingers through his and give his hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm okay," you say, but Belphie doesn't stop crying.

* * *

Robbery. Homelessness. Depression. Dropping out of high school. House fires. The loss of a loved one. These are all things that happen to _other people_.

Robbery feels like fiction until you get robbed.

Homelessness doesn't feel real until it's your reality.

Depression is a myth until you're the one affected.

High school dropouts are "stupid", "lazy", "delinquent" until you're the one dropping out, and then you realize that it isn't just something that happens to _other people_.

 _Other people_ aren't real until you're one of them. Until you've seen it yourself, all these things are just words in books. Words on lips; on TV. Rumors; gossip. _Fiction_.

(It's easy to believe you're untouchable, especially when you're young. A common phenomenon.)

* * *

Half an hour later, neither of you have moved an inch.

You break the silence. "Hey, Belph."

"...Mmh?"

"How old are you?" Your voice sounds raspy and gross, even to you.

"Mm, I dunno. I forgot."

"I see, I see." You smush your face into the pillow, eyes half-closed. "How old do you think I am? Give it your best guess."

"Wow, talk about a risky question. I refuse."

You grin. "Twenty-four."

"That's scary."

"Twenty-four," you say, and wiggle your fingers. A shitty attempt at being spooky. "Twenty-four, twenty-four, twenty-fouuur—"

"Stop."

"Ten years ago, I was—"

" _Stop._ "

"—Fourteen!"

Belphie hisses, and you jump. " _ **Quit it**_."

" _Why_?" You feel like you made a mistake, but you don't know where.

"You're reminding me of how quick humans age, and how short your lifespan is, and—I can't help thinking of how someday we won't get to talk like this. We won't get to nap together, hang out, and you're acting like it's _funny_."

You look up. Belphie sees you looking and hides his face behind the pillow he brought with him.

"I'm sorry," you say.

"..."

"I was thoughtless, and I'm sorry." The air feels unbearably thick. Resounding silence marks the longest thirty seconds of your (short, human) life.

"…"

"..."

Belphie lowers his pillow enough for you to see his eyes. "No, it's—I'm sorry," he says. "It's me. I'm the one who should be sorry."

"Wha—?" Any words you might've said stick to your throat like crystallized honey.

"I shouldn't have lashed out at you for something like that, when it's not even your fault." He removes the pillow. You can see his whole face now. It's bright red. "I was, thoughtless."

"Maybe we should both apologize and call it a day?"

"Sure, if you want to." His mouth is half-smiling. It's a weak, sad smile; the kind where the corners twitch down and your lower lip trembles because your body doesn't understand what it means to feel "bittersweet"—but it reaches his eyes. Belphie's half-smile reaches his eyes, and your heart overflows with a thousand plus different emotions (and they're all called _love_ ).

Your throat tickles. You ruin the moment with a cough. Belphie's face falls, and he averts his eyes.

_(Can he stop acting like I have the plague?)_

* * *

Belphegor knew what death was. Of course he did; everyone did. Death was when someone's heart stopped beating, the body stopped moving, and the lungs stopped breathing. The soul would leave with the reaper, and the person's loved ones would say their goodbyes.

Humans held "funerals".

It was fascinating.

It was not his problem.

(No, death was something that happened to _other people_.)

Like everyone, Belphie learned about it. He thought about it, decided to think about something else, and then forgot about it for a while.

Angels don't know death—not in the way humans do. An angel's lifespan is a long, long one (and most angels don't die young).

Death wasn't real to Belphie until the day he lost the luxury of naivete. Death was a fable till he saw Lilith's face, clawing at her wound with pale, clumsy fingers.

(It was just a bad dream; had to be. Any minute now, he'd wake up to harsh sunlight.

He'd find Lilith and give her a big hug.

After that, he'd hug Beel too. He'd end up crying into his shirt. Beel would know why, because that's just how Beel is.

 _Any minute now._ )

For the first time, _other people_ felt like a joke in poor taste that never got corrected because nobody thought to say it out loud.

(It's easy to believe you're untouchable, especially when you're young. A common phenomenon.)

.

.

.

 _I want to die,_ he thought on the day of the Fall. _I want to die_ , he thought as the wind bit and clawed at him with graceless fingers. _Can I see her again if I die?_

Like humans, angels can't parse depression until they've gone numb in the head.

Demons? They kiss their depression goodnight. They dress it up, feed it, fuck it, and take it where they go.

( _That's just how we are_.)

* * *

You clear your throat till it no longer tickles. "I'm okay."

Belphie breaks his stare. "I know." He tucks a strand of hair behind his ears. Frowns. Blinks. Bites his lip. Looks away. "Yeah."

(You remember his crying. He believes you about as much as you believe he and Satan got away with that prank, and you'd sooner expect Asmo to take a vow of chastity.)

"I— _Hey_. I'm not dying, okay?" Pause. "I solemnly swear that I'm not dying."

Belphie's plays with a lock of his hair, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. "You can't promise something like that."

( _I already died once_. You bite your tongue. Those are words you refuse to breathe out loud.)

"How can I not?" you say instead. "How can I _not_ , after hearing you cry like that?"

You watch him gulp down a retort like it tastes bad. Good, because _you're not done._ "Please," you beg. "Please, _stop acting like I'm already dead_."

(Your heartbeat pounds in your head; proof of life, the beat of the drum you march to.)

"..."

"..."

"...I was, wasn't I?"

"Yeah."

"That's…really embarrassing." Belphie tucks some hair behind his ear and squeezes his eyes shut with a groan. "Sorry."

"Apology accepted." You reach for a second pillow and give him a gentle _bonk._ "There. Your punishment."

"So, we're good now?"

"We better be."

"Mm, good." His voice gets quieter. Lower. "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" He scoots closer.

Unfortunately for him, you're sick, so like any good master you pretend not to notice his advances. "I have a cold, demon boy." You stick out your tongue. "Bring me soup."

The mattress creaks as he gets up. Belphie turns back, narrows his eyes—and sticks his tongue out too. _Blep_. "You know what I meant."

His face gets a chuckle out of you. "Yeah, yeah. Once I'm better, you can kiss me all you like."

"Mm, okay. Sounds good to me." Belphie looks back one last time, before shutting the door behind him.

(You know he's still worried. These things don't change overnight; a fact you know all too well.)

* * *

Belphie's carried his hurt for millennia. You've carried your hurt for six years.

You're remembering advice you got once; a pearl of wisdom from someone recently divorced. (They were someone you were keeping company at the time, a gent you quite liked because he never asked for anything strange.)

 _Your lover isn't there to fix you_ , he'd said. _You are not meant to fix your lover._

_(Am I making that mistake?)_

_At the end of the day, it all boils down to asking yourself if you're happy,_ he'd emphasized. _Ask yourself, every time._

_(Am I just trying to fix Belphie?)_

* * *

In the end, it was Satan who brought you your soup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus:  
> \- The prank failed. Satan spent the chapter getting an earful from Lucifer.
> 
> \- Belphie did not bring the soup because Lucifer found him. No one is happy with this ending and everyone is in a bad mood.


	5. 3 am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'SUP, FOLKS! I'm back! I had a whole birthday eleven days ago. Like, I aged and everything!?!? 🎂🎉 Wild.
> 
> Anyways! *Slaps this chapter* Welcome to hell 😌❤

Sneaking off to the kitchen in the dead of night is not a very _you_ thing to do, but desperate times call for desperate measures: You woke up three times, and now you need a sip of water.

To recap: The first thing that woke you was a dream about zombies. You downloaded a game to de-stress and played it for half an hour. Mission accomplished: you passed back out…

Except, you'd forgotten to turn off game notifications. The next thing to wake you was a _ping!_ from your device. You set your D.D.D. to "Do Not Disturb" and crawled back under the covers like some sort of bitter, hibernating beast.

You slept for about an hour, and it was great until you woke up thirsty.

_(Oh, gimme a break.)_

* * *

A surreal peace coats the House of Lamentation at 3 AM. You linger by the kitchen door and savor it—

The sound of footsteps shuffling about the kitchen gives you goosebumps. You hear the telltale _thum- **thump**_ of a cupboard opening and closing followed by the crinkle of a snack wrapper. _Who…_?

…

Well, whatever. You turn the handle and walk in.

Belphie's sitting on the kitchen table in his pajamas, munching from a single serving bag of black tornado potato chips. He stills, a chip halfway to his mouth.

"□□□□?" Belphie brings the chip the rest of the way, then pauses to chew and swallow. "Don't scare me like that. I thought you were Lucifer."

"Mm. Well…" You open up a cabinet and start sifting through tableware, lips pursed. _Clink, clack._ "I do a pretty good impression, apparently. Of Lucifer." You find an impressive number of plates. "According to Mammon." _Aha!_ Drinking glass.

"…"

"…" You turn the tap on. _Ssshhhhk._ You fill your cup, shut the tap off, and take a swig.

...

_(Man, this sucks._

_What do I say to him?)_

…

…

…

"Hey." Belphie sets his chips down and hops off the table. He walks up to you with measured, careful steps and puts his hand to his chest, five fingers splayed in righteous indignation. "I've been meaning to ask: Have you been avoiding me?"

You set your glass down and avert your eyes. "No." He chases eye contact, but you don't give in. "I haven't. I'm not."

"Really, now."

You look up, meeting his squint with your best poker face. You keep your expectations reasonable; you have yet to beat Mammon in Blackjack. "What makes you think I've been avoiding you?"

"You've been making plans with my brothers, but stuff with me falls through. When the two of us are alone, you excuse yourself early. What's up with that?"

You watch him bite his lower lip like a petulant child. You realize you're doing the same, and relax your jaw with a forced exhale. "I—"

 _"Even our naps."_ Belphie tugs at his sleeve, face downcast and a little red. "It's been, what, two weeks of this?"

"Has it?"

"Beel's noticed, too. He asked me if we fought." His words get quiet; you almost lose the last two in the hum of the refrigerator.

...

"Shit," you say.

"Did I do something to upset you?" He continues. "Hey, if I did, can you tell me? You know I can't handle any more secrets."

"Mmn, okay." Your eyebrows furrow. "I'll try, Belph."

"..."

(In the hush of 3 AM, you forget the House of Lamentation contains eight and not two. The world has shrunk into two partners, an opened bag of chips, and a half-empty glass of water.

Just you and him now in an eggshell world. Words pile up like dry leaves; they stir shyly on 3 AM's floor.)

.

.

.

Belphie's breath hitches. You don't know when you got so close, only that you're within kissing distance now. A gentle flush brushes his cheeks; you realize it's been weeks since you let him get this close.

"I'll tell you," you say. "I've been having an emotional crisis." You cup his cheek, running your thumb over the corner of his lips. "You didn't do anything wrong, Belphie. I swear it."

"Mmn…okay." Belphie leans into your touch, eyelids fluttering shut. "What kind of crisis? Is it the kind I can help with?"

"I'm having a crisis over the feelings part of our relationship."

"Huh. Really?" he murmurs. You remove your hand from his cheek and he opens his eyes, rubbing at one. "□□□□, are you still worried I might be projecting?"

"Mm, no. That's not it." You give him a gentle squeeze and bury your head against his neck. You smell lavender; he borrowed your shampoo again, didn't he? You'll scold him for it later. "You said you like me for who I am, not because I'm descended from…her. I trust you."

(You close your eyes and let him hug you back. It's safe and warm here in Belphegor's arms.)

You falter, then: "I never told you this, but back in the human world, I was never very good at romance."

"So, you're worried you're doing something wrong." A statement, not a question.

"Yeah," you murmur. "Something like that."

Belphie gives you one last squeeze, then lets go. He boosts himself back up onto the table and pats the spot next to him.

> _Your lover isn't there to fix you_ , the man advised over tea. _You are not meant to fix your lover._

You hop up. Belphie swings his legs idly and looks at you. "Go on."

"I'm out of my depth," you continue. "I've always kept things casual in the human world. It's not something I can easily change, no matter who I'm with."

> _Your lover isn't there to fix you._

Belphie's quiet. You gulp down the lump in your throat.

_(Say something, dang it!)_

...

"I see," Belphie says. He blinks at you. "I'm…okay with that. I think."

"Mm? What?"

"Figures. You _are_ from the human world, after all." Belphie tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. It falls out of place immediately. "In case you still can't tell, relationship norms are pretty relaxed here compared to your world. I mean, have you _met_ Asmo?"

You snort. "I think everyone's 'met' him, in one way or another."

"Pfheheh."

"Heheheh."

...

"...Relationship norms, huh?" you mutter. "That just confuses me _more_."

"Ugh, fine. Point is, there's no 'right way' in the Devildom." Belphie abandons sitting and just, lays down on the kitchen table by the potato chips. _Two snacks, side by side..._ "As long as you're communicating and everyone's happy, then that's good."

> _At the end of the day, it all boils down to asking yourself if you're happy,_ he'd stressed. _Ask yourself, every time._

"As long as we're communicating, huh…"

"Mhm. So, tell me next time if you need some space," he huffs. " _Talk_ to me. Trying to guess what I did wrong is… _tiring_."

"Mm, okay. Sorry, Be—why're you smiling?"

"Oh, it's nothing." His eyes spell mischief. "I just can't wait to see how you plan to make it up to me, that's all."

 _"Fucker."_ You snort. "Okay, okay. What d'you have in mind?"

"Don't you still owe me a kiss? You said when you got better, I could kiss you all I like." Belphie hums.

"I did, didn't I?" You scoot over an inch. "Sit up, please. It's hard to kiss you like this."

Belphie sits up _so_ fast, the bag of chips slides back a whole two inches. You jump in your seat with a pathetic squeak. "D'ah!"

"I—crap, did I scare you?"

"You nearly startled me off the table, you nerd." You wink to show you're just teasing and cup his jaw in one hand.

You rest your other hand on his waist for balance and lean in. Belphie parts his lips ever-so-slightly and tilts his head. He closes his eyes, and lets you take the lead.

…

The door to the kitchen swings open right as your lips brush, and the two of you scramble apart as quickly as you got together. You fold your hands in your lap and sit up straight—your best impression of a model student—while your heartbeat does a frantic staccato. _Please don't be Lucifer. Please don't be Lucifer._

...

Bless your lucky stars; it's just Beel. "Hey Belphie, □□□□. Did you get hungry too?"

"Gosh, Beel! Don't just sneak up like that," Belphie huffs. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"I thought you were Lucifer," you add, then hold your tongue lest you try making small talk and end up saying something silly. _So, Beel…you come here often?_ Like that.

"I didn't think you'd be in here," Beel says with a shake of his head. "Sorry."

"It's all good," Belphie says. He gives Beel a lopsided smile. "Don't worry about it."

"Okay." Beel beams. He ambles over and opens the fridge; harsh light floods the kitchen. "Oh, and we don't have any more leftovers. I ate them all."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Belphie wiggles his nearly-forgotten chip bag at Beel and you stifle a giggle at how crabby he looks (even though you're frustrated, too).

_(Oh, well. There's always next time.)_

* * *

It's half past three. Belphie went back to bed; it's just you and Beel now.

You retrieve your glass and stare at the bottom. You swirl it gently and the water sloshes around. It's oddly hypnotic, and you are very tired. "Hey, Beel?"

"Mmrnf?" Beel chews and swallows. "What's up?"

"Being hungry wasn't what _really_ woke you up, was it?"

Beel scratches the back of his head and nods. "...How did you know?"

"Just a hunch. It's too early for your morning jog and too late for a midnight snack."

Beel doesn't reply immediately. Instead, he tears into a bagel. You wait for him to finish.

He washes it down with a soda, then clears his throat. "I woke up, and Belphie was gone."

"Not in his bed, you mean?"

Beel nods. "I kind of, freaked out."

"...And then you got hungry?"

Another nod. "Yeah. I figured I'd stop by the kitchen and get something to eat. Turns out, he was with you." He puts his hands in his pockets and smiles. "I'm glad."

You return his gentle smile with a sleepy one. "You know what? So am I."

* * *

> **Belphie:** So, are we cool now?
> 
> **Belphie:** Just making sure.
> 
> **Belphie:** I'll say it again: I'm okay with having a relationship that's a little different.
> 
> Really? You're sure? ← 
> 
> **Belphie:**  
> 
> 
> **Belphie:** We'll need to communicate better, though.
> 
> **Belphie:** I can't read your mind any more than you can read mine.
> 
> I'll work on that. ← 
> 
> **Belphie:**  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's one of those things I didn't really pick up on till Season 2, but Belphie's... surprisingly emotionally mature when it comes to romance and clear communication, especially compared to some of his older brothers.
> 
> He's fairly straightforward. Like, when he wants something he just says so! When it comes to MC, he doesn't beat around the bush or play games and I think this is very attractive of him personally. 😳 
> 
> What stood out the most to me, though, was this: When rejecting one of his advances around mid-Season 2 (I'm sorry, Belphie! I was curious! Went back and redid it after lol) he's very matter-of-fact abt it and is like, "ok, no worries!" and i didnt feel as guilty fjdjrndjd..... Honestly this side of him really shines in Season 2 , like, in general. I just want.... 2 kiss him...... on, the lips......... 😳😳 //kicked
> 
> * * *
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! If you liked this chapter then you're more than welcome to leave a comment! Comments motivate me lots. 💞☕


	6. homing instinct (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
> This chapter describes the scene from Lesson 16 where MC "dies" by Belphie's hands. It's written from their perspective; there's some implied strangulation so proceed with caution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uhh remember when I said this would end at 6 chapters? Ahaha. Heheh. Hah. Yeah, about that...
> 
> What was supposed to be the last chapter, uh, is turning out ~longer than anticipated~ _(heh)_. I figured I'd split it into actual chapter-sized chunks to match the rest of the fic.
> 
> ~~Also, finishing it is taking forever and I need the validation shh.~~
> 
> Bon appetit. 🍽

_You climbed the stairs again, checking over your shoulder because while you were drawn to the attic boy, this was not where you belonged._

_(Of course, it was not where **he** belonged, either.)_

_Like always, you found him—but tonight, he did not look well. You wondered if it was a bad time, then wondered if there was ever a "good" time to be in solitary confinement._

_(A foolish part of you wanted to be in there with him, which was silly because you'd craved freedom your whole life. Would it've been different if you'd been caged together? Or would it have stayed the same?)_

_…Your inner voice talked too much. It was annoying, so you broke the silence and killed it._

_"Are you okay?" you asked the attic boy, who was clearly not okay._

_"I'm fine," said the attic boy as he hugged his knees and shivered. "I'm fine. Just…cold."_

_"But, it's warm in here."_

_"Leave me alone," he rasped. There was blood on his lips from where he bit too hard; he caught you staring and covered his mouth. "Just…please, just—"_

_"...I'll ask again tomorrow," you said and turned your back._

_(You walked slowly, because you knew he was lying.)_

_"Wait," he said, when you were on the first step down. You knew he would call out to you, and he knew you knew he would call out to you. "I—can you stay a little longer?"_

_"Of course," you replied, and came back. You sat down and rested your head on his door and the two of you sat and nobody spoke and it was kind of okay, actually._

_"I wish I could hug you," you ended up saying. "When you're free, I think I will give you a hug."_

_"I'd like that," he said. "When I'm free, the first thing I'll do is hug you."_

* * *

It's 2 AM, and you're indescribably…sad, you think—except, you aren't sure if "sad" is the best way to describe it.

(What other words can you use?

How else do you describe the _ache_ in your chest?)

Your eyes sting, and suddenly your cheeks and pillow are wet and you're not sure when they ended up that way or how long you've been crying for—only that you _are_ (and it's not cathartic in the slightest).

Your thoughts drift to Belphie, and suddenly you'd give anything for him to be here right now. In your arms, or you in his; it's fine either way as long as he's _here_ , because you are so fucking _lonely_ right now and—

"Hah…" _Lonely._

(That's it. _That's_ what you're feeling right now: loneliness.)

You grab your D.D.D. and text him, then remember it's 2 AM. If your text woke him up, that makes you legally an asshole.

Your phone buzzes. It's from Belphie. ( _'I'm on my way.'_ )

You flop onto your side. You stare at your phone. You wait.

…

There's an inconspicuous _knock-knock_ at your door a minute later. "□□□□?"

"Come in."

* * *

_"You humans really are foolish, idiotic, weak creatures, aren't you?" Belphegor cackled._

_You clawed at his arm, your fingers scrambling weakly at his sleeve. Hot tears leaked from eyes that felt like they could pop from their sockets at any moment oh god your head felt like it would **burst**._

_"You're so stupid that I can't help but laugh. Don't blame me for tricking you, blame yourself for falling for it."_

_This guy was crazy. This guy was batshit fucking **insane**. Something coppery bubbled in your throat and you wanted to laugh—not because it was funny, but because you were fucking hysterical._

_Belphie's words sounded like they came from underwater when he talked. "I **hate** humans, you see. **I hate them more than anything in the three worlds.** "_

_Your vision was going blurry. Belphie gripped your chin and forced you to look at him._

_"Hehe…does it hurt? Finding it hard to breathe? l'm sure it must be **very** unpleasant."_

_._

_._

_._

_(Something warm and wet rolled down your cheek and dripped off your chin._

_~~Belphie was crying.~~ _

_You looked at Belphie through the spots swarming your vision, ~~and under the exaggerated laughter, he was crying too.~~ )_

* * *

"Stay," you plead. You're clinging to him, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt in frantic fists. Belphie doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything; he just holds you tight. He _stays_ , knowing that his staying by your side is what you need right now.

Because that's what you told him to do.

Because you'd done the same for him countless times.

( _Sometimes, just having someone by your side can be enough_. Belphie knows this well.)

Belphie isn't a compassionate demon by nature. He strokes your head and wonders how you did this for him so easily (and then remembers that it actually wasn't easy for you either, no, not at all).

He can tell how much you trust him. It shows when you rest your head on his chest and close your eyes. It shows in the way your breathing steadies as you listen, he assumes, to the beating of his heart. He strokes your head and wonders why that is.

_He'd already killed you once, after all._

…

( _Aren't you scared?_ he asks your now-sleeping face. _When did you stop keeping your distance?_ )

His fingers are getting tired. He lets his hand rest. He doesn't feel like moving—actually, he _still_ wants to stay. He wants to stay with you until you wake up. He wants to wake up next to you—tomorrow, the next day, and every day after. He wants that (and more).

You mumble his name in your sleep.

 _(Is it a pleasant dream you're having, or a nightmare?_ he wonders. _)_

His eyelids feel heavy. Careful not to disturb you, he feels around for his D.D.D. and sends Beel a quick text saying he's with you. (So he won't be alarmed when he wakes up and finds Belphie's bed empty.)

He hits send, and it's done.

His eyes fall shut.

(He gives in.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all liked this chapter!! 🥳 Do drop your thoughts in the comments below. I love comments. They motivate and feed me and clear my skin. 💕 
> 
> (The next one's gonna have a surprise in it, and by surprise I mean I commissioned an art piece for it. Guess it's not a surprise anymore if I just up and told you tho... djdjfnfhehe 😊)


	7. homing instinct (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter was commissioned from **allyssinian** on Twitter! 🎉 Do check out their work, it's gorgeous and their line art is SO crisp. 💕

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today on OTTHEGOWIOKSA3A: Two adults have an important conversation. Better late than never, right?
> 
> (My MC face reveal?!?! 😳)

_"Hey, Belphegor. What kind of people piss you off the most?"_

_"...What is this, an icebreaker?"_

_"Yeah. I mean, all I know about you is that some asshole locked you up and you're long overdue for a haircut." You smiled; Belphie's stomach did an uncharacteristic flip. "I just…wanna know more about you."_

_"Ughh. Pick a better prompt, then." Belphie flopped onto his side and groaned. "Can I answer with 'Lucifer'?"_

_"Nooo. No, you can't."_

_"...Damn."_

_"I'll go first. I hate traitors," you announced. "Okay! Your turn."_

_"Get a therapist," he replied._

_"That's not an answer."_

_"It might not be the answer you want, but it's the answer you need."_

_"Mm, hmm." You hummed. "Let's make it a date, then! We'll get ice cream before therapy and stop by a barber on our way back."_

_"Did you come just to insult my hair? Or—" He sat up and squinted at you. "Wait, □□□□. You're drunk, aren't you?"_

_"..." You fell silent, then giggled. "Maaaybe."_

_"Seriously? Hey, don't tell me you're—"_

_"Oh, I'm not an emotional drinker, don't worry!" You waved your hands in sheepish protest. "Mammon found some human world alcohol, and we might've gotten a bit carried away. Demonus doesn't really work on me, so…"_

_"I see."_

_"Yeah! Satan's toootally wasted. He tried to out-drink Lucifer." Your smile dimmed, then—like a light bulb on its way out. "I wish you could've been there, though."_

_"Yeah, I bet," he mumbled. Then, "Why, do you like me or something?" It wasn't meant to be a serious question._

_Uninhibited, you pressed your hands to his door and smiled at him through the gaps. "Yes, Belphegor, I think I do! I was thinking about you the whoooole time."_

_Belphie stared._

_You stared back. The corners of your mouth turned up; you broke your stare and winked at him._

_"...Go to bed, □□□□," he said._

_"Mmh, okay." You wobbled to your feet and yawned. "It was nice talking to you, Belphegor."_

_"What, are you Diavolo or something? Just…call me Belphie. Like everyone else."_

_"Oh, that's right! We're friends now, after all." You flashed a peace sign at him and moved to leave. "G'night, Belphie."_

_"Mm. Night."_

_You took a step, faltered…and turned back._

_"What now?" he grumbled into his pillow. "If you have something to say, just say it."_

_"...I almost forgot your goodnight kiss." You kissed your fingers, then touched your hand to his door._

_._

_._

_._

_(Belphie had a hard time sleeping that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your smile._

_…_

_Still, all he had to do was shut his eyes, right? Everything would go back to normal if he pretended it was just a dream._

_Belphie was good at pretending. He didn't like it, but he was good at it._

_~~He just needed to pretend a little harder when it came to you.~~ )_

* * *

"Did you see Asmo at breakfast? He was totally freaking out."

"Heheh."

"He squealed so loud, I totally thought someone had set off the fire alarm!"

Belphie takes a sip of cocoa. "It was embarrassing, wasn't it?"

"Right?!" Regrettably, your mug is still too hot to drink. You take a spoonful and blow on it like it's soup. "You wanna know how many times he winked at me during breakfast? Three times."

"Four times for me. He also made an inappropriate gesture."

"Was it encouragement, you think? Or a threat?"

"Who knows?" He props his head up on his hand and glances at you from across the dining hall table. "Unless you'd like to give him something to worry about."

"Whuh?" you sputter most eloquently, and spill a bit of cocoa from your spoon. You reach for a napkin. "What?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing."

"...Sure, sure." You give him your fakest mean look, and see his lips curl into a smile. "Anyways, we aren't getting any studying done at this rate."

"Okay. In that case, I'll go take a nap."

"Don't you dare."

"You can join me, you know."

"I am but an innocent lamb," you deadpan. "I'm gonna tell Simeon that the Avatar of Sloth tempted me into sin."

"...Zz…"

"Oh, you did _not._ " You plant your face in an open textbook and make a sound of pure, unadulterated despair.

…

"Just kidding." Warm arms encircle you from behind.

 _"D'ah!"_ You jump in your seat. "Belph!"

"Sorry." Belphie unhugs you and returns to his side of the table. He folds his arms in front of him and lays his head there, blinking up at you listlessly. "Did that scare you?"

You pull yourself together with a sheepish giggle. "Yeah, you really startled me. Didn't even hear you approaching, it was kind of impressi—Huh?"

Belphie's expression resembles the look Beel had when the latter realized they were out of pickled kraken.

"What's wrong?"

Belphie's quiet for a beat, then speaks up. "□□□□, do I scare you?" he asks, slowly.

 _(I see,_ you realize. _It's about **that** , isn't it?)_

You get up, round the table, and seat yourself beside him.

_(True, we never really talked about it properly.)_

He picks his head up and meets your eye with a heavy, lazy sort of defiance.

"Well?" he asks.

_(I know.)_

"In general? No, you don't," you say, without hesitation. "Do I give off that impression?"

"The opposite, actually." Belphie gulps and hugs himself like he's cold. "Last night, you called me over. Why? Levi's usually awake around then, too."

_(Is he testing me?)_

"Texting Levi never occurred to me," you say. "I trust him and I like spending time with him, but there was nothing he could have done."

Belphie hugs himself tighter; you see a shiver run through him. He nods.

(You stand; Belphie mirrors you. You wonder how you look reflected back at him.

What kind of person is he looking at?

[Are they cruel or kind; trusting or cynical? Are they experient? Naive?

…All of the above?]

When Belphie looks at you, what kind of human does he see?)

…

"Belphie," you start. You hold his face in both hands and make him look you in the eye. "It's not like you to beat around the bush."

_(Bite the bullet.)_

"You can't figure out how the hell I trust you, is that right?" you say, and lean in till your foreheads almost touch. Belphie's eyes are twin sunsets; you've never seen anything more beautiful.

"You're afraid," you continue, "because you attacked me. Because I died at your hands once—and it _hurt_."

(You watch emotion well up in those pretty eyes of his.)

"Belphie, do you want to know why I trust you?" you breathe. _"It's because you offered to make a pact with me."_

"But—"

"When I formed pacts with the others, it was always me who approached them first." You press your forehead to his, and he gasps. "They generally needed persuading; you didn't. You went up to me. You asked if I'd make you mine."

"..."

"Making a pact, giving me that sort of power over you; it felt like your way of saying _you'd never hurt me again_." You run your thumb over his cheek. "Is that right?"

Belphie nods slowly; once, twice. "That's right."

"I know it is. I visited you a bunch when you were locked up, Belphie. I like to think I know you pretty well now."

You let go of his face long enough to pull him into a tight embrace. Belphie returns the hug; he all but melts against you (and you can tell from his shuddering breaths that he's trying not to cry. Even the Avatar of Sloth has his pride).

"But," you say, "I'm hard to understand, and that's why you're afraid. Am I right?"

You feel him nod.

"You know me well, and I know you well, but we're still complicated as fuck."

Belphie's quiet for a bit, then: "What a pain."

"I know, right?"

"Still, I like that about you."

"So you're a masochist, then," is your automatic reply.

"I never said that," Belphie retorts.

You pat his head and pull away. "As much as I'd love to discuss your repressed masochism, I should drink my hot cocoa before it gets cold."

"I hope your cocoa's cold."

…

You take a sip—and make a face. "Ew, thanks. Yours?"

"Mine's cold too."

"Gimme your mug," you say. "I'll make us more."

"Oh…" He offers up his mug; your hands brush when you take it. "Thanks."

"Mhm. Don't mention it."

He stops you before you go. "Wait, □□□□." He falters, then: "About what you said…"

"Yeah?"

Twin sunsets smile up at you. "Thank you. For everything." A pause. "...I mean it."

"O-oh." Your face heats up; you kiss the top of his head so he can't see. "I'm glad."

( _"I'm glad."_

You want to say more than just that.

You want to, but your head's gone fuzzy and the only three words left— _"I"_ , _"love"_ , and _"you"_ —are too dangerous to say all at once.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes:  
> \- I hc Asmo as being able to sense (smell?) lust or just, general attraction in the people around him.
> 
> \- Belphie and MC here _have_ shared the bed before. This is not the first time Belphie's been witnessed leaving MC's room either. They both have chronic need-a-cuddle-buddy syndrome so everyone's somewhat used to it
> 
> \- Nothing happened. Asmo can smell the unresolved sexual tension lately, though...so he's all, _Hrmm. SUSPICIOUS!!_ 🤔👀
> 
> * * *
> 
> Hope y'all liked this one! These two bring me so many emotions 🥺 💕 Again, the illustration here was commed from @/allyssinian on Twitter, I'm super happy with it djsjdkskfkdkgg 🥺🥳
> 
> If you liked this chapter, then feel free to leave a comment! Even if I don't reply immediately, I read them all. ☕ It's motivating asf 💕


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